Chapter Fifteen
We are a galactic race that no one has ever noticed. Doesn’t the intelligence of our members—at least the best of us—compare favorably with that of any recognized galactic race? Admittedly, we look different from any of them, and we don’t have their cellular structures, but who’s to say that a galactic race has to be biological? Whey can’t it be mechanical instead, with metal and plax parts, and computer circuitry?
—From one of Thinker’s private data banks
Unable to move, Ipsy watched as a mechanical claw reached for the remains of a large, dented unit that had once been the central processing unit for an entire factory assembly line. As the claw lifted its load, the pile shifted, and the broken little robot was jostled to one side.
He’d been there for weeks outside the factory, bumped around and constantly ignored. No one seemed to need his parts for anything. He was small and easily overlooked, but the claw had a zoomeye on it, projecting a beam of orange light that enabled it to see the tiniest part anywhere in the heap, even at the bottom, underneath everything else.
At the moment, with the heavy CPU no longer on him, Ipsy found himself on the very top of the scrap heap, warming under a bright sun. He didn’t really want to be taken, because then he might lose what little independence he had left, if only what remained of it in his own mind. All he had now was his ability to observe what went on around him, and to remember better days.
The claw moved its load and released it, then returned and hovered over another part, a couple of meters away from Ipsy.
Just then, without being touched, the pile shifted, settled. And, for the first time since being thrown on the scrap heap, Ipsy moved one of his mechanical arms, and a leg. His circuits had reconnected, but only partially. He tried to move his other arm and leg, but without success. It would be difficult to escape this place with only two of his four major appendages, but he decided to give it a try anyway.
Like a cripple, he dragged himself over the top of the heap, away from the claw. His improvised body was even shorter than before, and much thinner. With one of his rear visual sensors, he saw the claw’s orange beam of light move toward him, and almost catch up with him. Abruptly, more key components of his circuitry came to life. He scurried like a rodent down the slope of junk, and entered the factory through a side door.
Reaching the main aisle and then crawling up on a ledge for a better view, the little robot saw that the factory was not operating at all. Hibbils and workbots busied themselves at assembly-line stations, adjusting the machinery, connecting raw material feeder units to it. On the far end of the aisle, robots stood motionlessly, awaiting the signal to return to their stations.
Hearing voices behind him, Ipsy dropped down behind a bench.
He saw the furry lower legs of two Hibbils, standing near him. The diminutive men spoke rapidly, excitedly. From their conversation, he figured out they were military officers for something called the HibAdu Coalition, checking on the production of war materials. Listening attentively, Ipsy heard more.
“We’re getting close to zero hour,” one of them said. “It’ll be unprecedented. Simultaneous sneak attacks on Human and Mutati planets. Imagine the scope of it, all the destruction and death.”
“From what I hear, it could already be underway.”
“I wish I was on the front lines, instead of this assignment,” the other said. “I hate Humans, the way they’ve always lorded over us, treating us like children.”
“We each must do our part. Most of the instrument systems and parts coming out of this factory are for the HibAdu fleet.” This Hibbil laughed, and added, “If you want to go on the front lines, why don’t you hide inside one of the weapon-control boxes?”
The two officers walked away, and their conversation faded.
Ipsy’s artificial brain whirred. He wondered if he might commit an act of sabotage … perhaps even blow up the factory. But this was one of many factories, and they would just resume operations elsewhere. Besides, it sounded like most of the HibAdu attack force was already in place and ready to attack.
Then Ipsy had an even more intriguing idea. If he could do something
during
a military engagement, he might be able to wreak much more havoc.
Considerably smaller than a Hibbil, he crawled inside one of the weapon-control boxes just before it was sealed up, and awaited its delivery to the war.
Chapter Sixteen
Trust is like quicksand. It can lull you to your death.
—A saying of Lost Earth
At opposite sides of a dual-console machine, two aliens of differing races stood inside a glax tower building in the Hibbil capital city, surrounded by a sea of industrial structures that stretched to the horizons of the planet. The shorter one, a Hibbil with graying black-and-white fur, glanced up at his companion, concealing his own enmity.
This Adurian diplomat was a major irritation.
Whenever VV Uncel wasn’t looking, Pimyt glared at him with red-ember eyes. Then, the moment Uncel looked his way with those oversized insectoid orbs, the little Hibbil was all smiles on his own furry, bearded face, and his eyes had reverted to red dullness. Pimyt knew how disarmingly cute he could look whenever he wanted, like a cuddly Earthian panda bear. He also knew that Adurians didn’t trust Hibbils, and vice versa. The two races were only working together for their own interests, with each side constantly trying to get a leg up on the other. On some occasions the methods were subtle, but most of the time they were not. Even so, racial preservation and advancement had a way of causing each side to overlook the perceived slights committed by the other. The leaders of the two races understood this, and knew they could go farther together than apart.
In other circumstances, and perhaps sometime in the not-too-distant future, Pimyt might eradicate Uncel with shocking suddenness, moving in for the kill in a surprising blur of speed. But for now, they would play this little game together.
It was an Adurian form of entertainment, actually, in which the two of them stood at linked holovid consoles, operating touchpad controls that immersed each of them into a holodrama, shown on a large central screen. The Adurians loved their games of chance and competition, and this one had a couple of twists that rigged it in the Adurian player’s favor. And, though Uncel had taken pains to keep it secret, Pimyt knew that the decisions the Hibbil player made were being sent by hidden telebeam transmitters to an office full of Adurian bureaucrats, where they were further studied, to analyze sincerity and trustworthiness.
Pimyt smiled to himself. As a race, the Adurians were notoriously paranoid. On their homeworld and throughout their foreign operations, everything was under surveillance, and they were quite adept at tech gadgets. But Hibbils were considerably better at devising clever machines and mechanical systems than Adurians, and for every tech system the Adurians had, the Hibbils had one that was superior. It was only in diverse biological and biotech products that the Adurians held the upper hand, particularly in the improvement of lab-pods, which had originally been discovered by Mutati scientists—but not developed very well by them.
This machine could be set to play a variety of games. At the moment, the participants were in a simulated competition of space baseball, with their holo images dressed in uniforms, standing in batters’ boxes on an asteroid. Each of them faced the same tall Vandurian pitcher who threw two balls simultaneously, one with each arm. The first player to hit the tricky pitches, or to get the best hit if both of them connected simultaneously, won the game.
Uncel swung, and missed. “Damn!” he exclaimed.
Smiling to himself, Pimyt hit a line drive that carried into the asteroid belt. His virtual ball kept going and going, and soon it was out of sight. Gleefully, the holo image of the little Hibbil ran and leaped from asteroid to asteroid around the simulated deep-space base path, and finally he came back around to home plate on the original asteroid.
“Going, going, gone!” he shouted, as if he was an announcer describing a long home run. “You lose!”
Uncel had an expression on his face like a man who knew he had been hoodwinked, but couldn’t figure out how. In fact, the Adurian machine had been rigged to give Uncel the advantage, but Pimyt had transmitted an overriding signal into it to give him the edge instead.
“This is impossible,” Uncel said. “You did something to the game, didn’t you?”
“You sound so certain of that, my friend. Why is that, do you suppose?” Pimyt knew why, and saw a look of guilt on the Ambassador’s face. The cheater knew that he had himself been cheated.
“You’re wasting my valuable time,” Uncel snapped. Lifting his head in disdain, he marched to an ascensore and entered it, leaving Pimyt alone in the tower room.
“Pompous ass,” Pimyt muttered under his breath.
Left to himself, he fiddled with the game controls, changing the settings in rapid succession, bringing up a variety of games, some of which he’d never heard of. Many of the diversions involved cards, dice, or balls, while others were animal races, with the players riding on the backs of a selection of alien beasts.
All the while, his thoughts wandered. The little Hibbil led an uncommonly complex life, balancing his various duties, his layers of subterfuge and intrigue. His biography was not linear, and would be impossible for anyone to write accurately without his candid cooperation.
Pimyt was, without doubt, a very important person. And not just in his own estimation.
Though Hibbils did mate, and the vast majority of them enjoyed the company of the opposite sex, he had been involved in very few dalliances in the past, and expected the future to be the same. He was proud of the fact that his libido had no influence on his decision-making processes. Or at least, that he had subdued it enough to make it ancillary.
There had been undeniable temptations, such as the attractive Jimlat dwarf that had caught his eye on the remote, unaligned planet of the same name. He’d never seen a face and figure to match hers. And the way she
moved
! She had almost derailed his entire career with her charms. Pimyt had made love with her in her apartment, and she’d told him of her own ambitions and dreams, of how she would like to marry him and move to the Hibbil Cluster Worlds.
He had smiled and nodded, and had popped a pill to diminish his passions. Then, when her back was turned, he had strangled her to death, moving against her with a suddenness that she could never have anticipated. It wasn’t that Pimyt liked to kill anyone. He didn’t go out of his way for anything like that. But she had been a distraction, one he could ill afford. He’d done her a favor, actually. Undoubtedly he would have been more brutal with her if he’d really gotten to know her. Especially if—as he thought might happen—he actually fell in love with her.
For someone in Pimyt’s position, with so much riding on his shoulders, he could never allow that to happen. He was responsible for a major portion of the HibAdu plan, and it had to proceed without impediments. He was, in his own estimation, far more important to the cause than the pretentious Adurian Ambassador.
At that moment a telebeam message came in, and he activated his ring to open the connection. A bright red banner opened in the air, a holo image with white lettering on it:
News Bulletin:
HibAdu Coalition makes surprise attacks against all Human and Mutati worlds. Defender Ships proved useless, due to sabotaged firing mechanisms on their artillery pieces. We also used signal-blocking devices to muzzle the defenders’ telebeam transmissions, so none of their emergency messages got out. All MPA worlds except for Canopa and Siriki have fallen, and all Mutati worlds except for Dij. Fighting rages for these last three planets.
Grinning from ear to furry ear, Pimyt linked the ring to a panel box on the wall, and transmitted the same banner—in much larger form—into the sky outside the tower building. Tonight, there would be dancing in the streets.
Chapter Seventeen
Any moment could be your last—individually and collectively.
—Eshaz, comment to Subi Danvar
At the head of the podship fleet,
Webdancer
plunged into the ethereal mists. Thousands of ships in the first wave followed her into the starcloud, while the balance of the fleet went into holding patterns in that galactic sector, awaiting instructions by comlink to proceed.
Noah sat solemnly on a hard bench in the passenger compartment. Looking up, he saw a blank white screen appear, covering the viewing window on the forward wall. Like a schoolteacher, the big Tulyan Eshaz stood near the screen, holding a black control device in one of his thick hands.
He activated the device, and the screen went on, showing multiple views of the starcloud planets—all showing throngs of Tulyans celebrating in the streets.
“Word has reached them that the fleet is returning,” Eshaz said, his voice and expression filled with pride. “After millions of years, we can once again return to our caretaking duties.”
“We’ve rescued the podships,” another Tulyan said. “Truly, this is a joyous occasion.”
But Noah felt a deep despondency, and a sense of foreboding. He knew something terrible was wrong, but couldn’t determine what it was. He was focused so far inward, questing and wanting answers, that events around him seemed as hazy as the mists of the starcloud. In a short while he disembarked the podship at the moorage basin and boarded a glax, self-propelled space platform. Tesh, Eshaz, Anton, Subi and a number of soldiers from the flagship accompanied him.
From the platform, the others stared in amazement at tens of thousands of podships moored around them in the pale mists. Like a small child, Tesh pressed her face up against the clearglax, for a closer view. Then she pulled back and looked at Noah. “As a galactic race,” she said, “the Aopoddae are known to date back even farther than the Tulyans … to the very origins of the galaxy.”
As Eshaz gazed out on the wide mooring area, he said in a reverent tone, “Some of these creatures are exactly the same pods that once transported us on our important maintenance and repair assignments, millions of years ago. The ancient podships are well-known from the oral history of my people. Each ship has a name and a historical record of accomplishments. Some of the most legendary pods are Spirok, Elo, Dahi, Thur, Riebu, Thees, Lody.” He pointed. “There! That one is Riebu!”
The one he designated had deep, rippled scars on its side, as if it had suffered the space equivalent of Moby Dick, and survived.
“Podships have mysterious life cycles,” Tesh said to Noah. “While many of them live almost eternally, that is not the case with all. Some die from accidents and diseases. Breeding is inconsistent. It goes in spurts, and then seems to stop entirely for centuries.”
“This is true,” Eshaz said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “Your people have had time to observe the creatures.”
She nodded, her expression growing sad.
Outside, a number of Tulyan pilots emerged from the podships, then stood atop the creatures and bowed their heads.
“An ancient ceremony,” Eshaz said, his voice choking with emotion. “These pilots have been reunited with their original podships, from long ago.”
At his side, Noah saw Tesh crying softly. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks, and kissed her tenderly.
“My feelings are complex,” she said. “Tears of joy for the Tulyans and their podships, but intense sorrow for my own people.”
“I understand,” Noah said, putting an arm around her.
“Why did it have to come to this?” she asked. Then she added quickly, “Of course, I already have the answer to that.”
In a comforting tone, Noah said, “I know it’s impossible to ask you not to feel distress. But Tesh, please don’t feel guilty for what you had to do. Maybe you’re like Meghina. Both of you were born to other races, but you each wanted to be Human. You are Human now, my darling.”
She smiled, but only a little. Her green eyes opened wide. “Well, almost Human, anyway. Cellular tests would say otherwise.”
“You and Meghina both look Human and act Human. It’s beyond cellular structures, beyond anything physical. It goes to your hearts.”
“Listening to you, I could almost imagine that any other differences are inconsequential.”
“They are.” He pulled her close, embraced her. It amazed him how the Parvii magnification system could make this tiny person seem much larger, in all respects. He wondered what the fate of her decimated race was, and knew she spent much more time thinking about that than he did.
Noah heard a low hum, and felt a gentle vibration at his feet. The glax platform shuttled them from the moorage basin toward the floating, inverted dome of the council chamber. After a few minutes, it nudged up against a docking module and locked into position. Glax double doors slid open, revealing the interior of an entrance deck that skirted the chamber.
A pair of Tulyans marched forward stiffly, dressed in green-and-gold uniforms. They each carried a cap. “Right this way, please,” the shorter of the reptilian men said, to Anton and Noah, as they stepped off the platform. “We are your escorts.” He bowed, then put his cap back on. “The Elders are extremely anxious to speak with you.”
“It is an emergency,” the other Tulyan said as he put on his own cap.
“What do you mean?” Doge Anton asked.
“I am not authorized to say.”
Noah felt a sense of foreboding.
Emerging from the gathered passengers, Eshaz said, “I’ll go with them. This doesn’t sound good.”
“As you wish.” The shorter escort led the way up a wide, travertine tile stairway, while Eshaz motioned for Tesh and Subi to join the group.
On the next level they hurried through an arched doorway, then over a wide bridge that crossed a reflecting pool. Well-dressed aliens of a variety of races were gathered in a reception area, talking in hushed tones. They looked angry. Noah noticed that other alien dignitaries were being led out of the council chamber, just beyond. None of them looked very happy.
The escorts led the small party into the immense council chamber, onto a clearglax floor that seemed to float on air, with the curvature of the inverted dome below, and the ethereal mists of the starcloud. Their footsteps echoed on the floor. The immense chamber was nearly empty, with no one in the rows of spectator seats, and a few last aliens being led out, despite their protestations.
Three stern-looking Tulyans sat in the center of a wide, curving bench.
“Something is terribly wrong,” Eshaz whispered to Noah. “Just three Elders, and no one in the visitor’s gallery. I have never seen anything like this before, and I have lived for a long time.”
The female Elder in the center looked down solemnly from the bench, and waited for the chamber to be sealed. Noah recognized her as First Elder Kre’n.
“We have very grave news, indeed,” she said.
Noah and his companions stared upward inquisitively. His feelings of foreboding intensified.
“Terrible tragedies on Human and Mutati worlds,” a much larger Elder on her left, Dabiggio, said. “Our operatives got messages off to us describing the disasters.”
“Web transmissions,” Kre’n said. “While we have had difficulties with them, due to galactic conditions, they remain more reliable than your nehrcoms.”
“Tragedies, disasters?” Anton asked. “What are you talking about?”
Kre’n scowled at him. “You don’t know? While you were away, didn’t you receive any nehrcom messages?”
“We’ve been in relay range for awhile now. Several reports came in, but nothing about any big problems.”
“Fake transmissions, I suspect. Every Human and Mutati planet has been attacked.”
Anton and Tesh gasped. Noah glowered, waiting for more information.
“The attackers cut off authentic nehrcom transmissions from all MPA planets,” Kre’n said. “It took them longer, but they also managed to cut off our web transmissions. We fear the worst for our operatives.”
“What the hell happened?” Anton demanded. “Who attacked us?”
“Hibbils and Adurians,” Dabiggio said. “The Human and Mutati empires are lost. Surprise assaults, with overwhelming force. We lost communication three hours ago, but at that time only Canopa and Siriki were holding out in the MPA, and the Mutatis only had Dij left.”
“My God!” Anton said.
“We have incontrovertible proof that the Hibbils and Adurians are in alliance.” the third Elder said.
Is this what I sensed
? Noah wondered. “Hibbils and Adurians?” he asked. “How could that possibly be?”
Nodding solemnly, Kre’n said, “They call themselves the HibAdu Coalition. They must have been plotting the attacks for some time. Coordinated military assaults against all targets.”
“Traitors,” Tesh said. “What a bunch of sneaky bastards.”
Noah thought back, and again he remembered seeing Hibbil and Adurian soldiers in a Timeweb vision. He’d reported it to Doge Anton, but there had been no indication of the scope of the treachery, or the direction it might take. Noah also remembered now that Lorenzo had a Hibbil attaché named Pimyt. The last Noah heard, Lorenzo and Pimyt were in Noah’s former EcoStation, where the deposed doge was in exile.
The HibAdu Coalition
, he thought in dismay, letting it seep in.
But his gut told him that wasn’t all he’d been sensing. There was something more than this dire military news, something even worse, and he couldn’t put a finger on it.
Kre’n raised a hand. “Bring the Mutatis in,” she said.
“The Mutatis?” Anton exclaimed. Obviously stunned, he exchanged nervous glances with Noah.
A side door burst open, and a large Mutati strutted in, wearing a purple-and-gold robe. He was accompanied by an entourage that included several uniformed military officers and a female shapeshifter—of the aerial variety—who flew beside him.
“Meet the Emir Hari’Adab,” Kre’n said, “ruler of the Mutati Kingdom.”